Do you ever crave experiences that are real? Things that you can smell and touch and feel with a depth that never ceases to increase and enlighten? That is where I am right now in my life. I crave knowledge, and good people. I crave truth, and I crave kindness and love. Although, it was difficult getting to where I am today, I could not have done it without the struggles that helped me notice details that weaved through my existence. My story is limited only by the seventeen years of experience, which is carefully determined by no one other than myself. My story is a rolling sea of navy waters: The beauty can still be seen and appreciated from a hilltop far away, but its true depth and detail lies just under the glassy top of the water. Just like the ocean, my story has different sections that can be divided, like the separate seven seas. From growing up without a mom and dad, to managing the struggles with them when they returned, to being bullied, to being the bully, to wanting my name in lights, to being broken with the burden of goodbyes, to feeling wasted and exposed, and then from hopeless to loved. This is the wordy, complicated, and never truly ending story of my life.

I remember the exhilarating feeling of socks on the wood floor. I could slide and spin and twirl until crashing into the edges of a table. I could be a ballerina, a figure skater, or some sort of free free happy-footed girl. My opportunity was bounded by nothing but the creative potential of my own mind. I remember noticing my momma tucking herself away in her storage-turned craft room to chat on the phone to her never-ending list of “best” friends. I remember feeling unwanted. In response, I remember packing a little suede backpack and fleeing to the enchanted woods of the backyard. Beyond our backyard’s line of pine trees lied a soft open field of never ending grass. I had found it. This was my craft room. Staring in silence at the openness and freedom of the horizon, I discovered there that my opportunities were limitless: an open ceiling extending forever into the loving sky.

There was a place within the line of trees, a place of in-between, where I felt safe enough to cry. And when there were no more tears I would sing, and when there were no more lyrics I would dream, and when there were no more dreams, I would imagine - I would imagine a world where problems were still existing, but in a different form.

The ceaseless dream of grass was thrilling because it was supposed to be untouchable ground. It was the landlord's backyard. Although it was labeled as a private land, it expanded for miles and miles of long billowing grass. I pretended that I was Maria, from the sound of musci, fleeing from the uncertainty that life had given me, and longing for adventure and freedom. Here it begins.

Tune in next week for the continuation of my story.